Free Berlin Encounter by T. Davis Bunn Page B

dangers.”
    “What sort of dangers?”
    “That’s what I want you to find out.” Harry’s gaze had a piercing quality. “Don’t go looking for trouble, mind you. But if you can, find out what the Russians are up to. Have a look at things from the other side. See where these men are headed, what kind of equipment they are carting around. Observe. Seek the unexpected. Strive to fit the puzzle together. And above all, take care. You will be utterly alone out there, Jake. As alone as anyone can be in this day and age—surrounded by millions of people, none of whom you can trust.”
    ———
    Jake picked his way back down the steep hillside, only to find Hans Hechter waiting for him with both hands planted firmly on his hips. “Really, Colonel, this is too much. You know perfectly well that your primary objective is to deliver us safely and swiftly to the American sector. I order you to end these ridiculous excursions and get on with the business at hand.”
    Jake stopped in midstride, too dumbfounded to be angry. “You what?”
    “You heard me,” the scientist snapped. “I command you to forget this nonsense and drive!”
    Jake opened his mouth a couple of times, caught between fury and laughter. He settled on, “Get in the truck.”
    Dr. Hechter started to speak, but something in Jake’s eye snagged his attention. With a stifled oath he wheeled about and stomped to his door.
    Jake climbed in his side with a long-suffering sigh. It had been like this since they had emerged from the woods the night before. Dr. Grunner was silent and servile and afraid. Dr. Hechter remained a consistent pain in the neck. He had vehemently refused to climb into the secret compartment, claiming it was beneath his station to travel under such conditions. Grunner had defused the situation by offering to remain there throughout the journey.
    Jake continued to regret that offer, both because it left him seated next to the former Nazi, and because the atmosphere would probably have been improved had there been a confrontation in that first moment. But because they were less than a half-mile from the guard station, and because Grunner had already climbed into the truck, Jake had let matters lie.
    They had driven through the night, or rather Jake had, going east rather than west, headed back toward Berlin. The powers that be had reasoned that the alarm would be sounded for defectors headed directly toward the western sectors. Jake had followed their pointers tracing a line on the wall-sized map and had not objected at the time; why should he, when he had never been there, had no idea what the roads would be like, and had never experienced what it meant to be behind enemy lines, heading farther and farther into unfriendly territory.
    He pushed aside his fears and frustrations, and drove on. His mind was gritty from fatigue and strain, his concentration focused more on what he had seen from the hilltop than on the road or his compass. The military markings on the convey had been clearly visible, the contents of the trucks very disturbing. The trucks headed eastward were not laden with troops, as Stalin was claiming in the newspapers. Jake had seen no evidence that there was a withdrawal underway. The eastbound trucks had not carried men at all. They had been loaded to the gills with loot.
    Some of the trucks had covers strapped over their bulky burdens. But not others. Jake had seen everything under the sun being carried eastward—great cheese rings stacked with straw for cushioning and insulation, clattering piles of pots and pans beneath a webbing of rope, tools, bleating animals, possessions of every imaginable description. Two trucks had trundled by while Jake watched, each bearing a trio of great chandeliers strung from an overhead bar, thousands of crystals tinkling and shooting rainbows in every direction.
    There was no question in Jake’s mind whatsoever. The eastern sector of Germany was being systematically looted, stripped to the